


i'm just giving you warning (and i ain't telling you why)

by janed



Category: NCIS, Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Crossover, Fingerfucking, Frottage, M/M, safe sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-01-30
Updated: 2007-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-22 20:22:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/242205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janed/pseuds/janed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Or how about we just skip to the part where you show me the bedroom?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm just giving you warning (and i ain't telling you why)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Shadows Keep On Changing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/122754) by [carleton97](https://archiveofourown.org/users/carleton97/pseuds/carleton97). 



> Originally posted to livejournal. Written for **carleton97**. Title by Kings of Leon.

"Wanna show me the rest of your apartment?" He mumbled against Tim's mouth, sliding his fingers along the naked stretch of skin at Tim's hip as he pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. "Or how about we just skip to the part where you show me the bedroom?"

Tim made a soft sound, just louder than breath, before swallowing hard and kind of half-nodding as he pointed to the door across the room. "It's through there."

"That is an awesome place for a bedroom," Dean said, grinning. He'd already assumed that was it earlier while he was pretending to call Animal Control and waiting for Tim to finish giving himself a pep talk or having a freak out or whatever the hell it was he'd been doing in the kitchen.

"There's too much light in the morning," Tim said, reaching down to pull his pants up. His hands fumbled at the zipper like was planning to make himself all presentable or something. Which, as far as Dean was concerned, was totally pointless seeing as how he was planning to get the damn things off all together as soon as possible. He grabbed Tim's hands, hooking his thumbs over Tim's hanging-open waistband and pulling him along toward the bedroom, pressing hot open-mouthed kisses against his lips all the way.

The backs of Tim's knees hit the mattress and he sat down hard, awkward, and looked up at Dean, nervously licking at that pretty bottom lip of his. Tim made soft sound and squeezed his eyes shut, opening them again just as quick, as Dean nudged him to lie back. Putting one knee on either side of his thighs, he climbed up onto the bed, straddling him. He pushed his hands under Tim's shirt, rubbing his palms up Tim's stomach to his chest, as he leaned down, teeth nipping at Tim's lip before bringing their mouths together again.

Dean had always liked kissing but, god, that _lip_. It was like it was magnetic or something.

Tim's hands slid up his thighs, squeezing involuntarily when Dean's fingertips brushed over one of his nipples. He shifted against Tim, rubbing down against Tim's dick, already hard again where it pressed up insistently at the seam of Dean's jeans. Tim hips jerked up against his, a low sound in the back of his throat, and Dean smiled against his mouth. He couldn't help thinking that getting laid was about a thousand times better than rolling around on the ground of a dark ass cemetery, trying not to look a fucking black dog in the eye but still somehow manage to put a couple bullets in it.

Any other time it would have been Sam's job to look out for cops and civilians, but since he'd been putting the guilt on for weeks all _you never let me do anything!_ and _it's not fair!_ and _I shouldn't even have to go if all I get to do is stand around!_ , Dad had switched them up. Not that Dean was complaining or something because, again, _a thousand times better_.

He'd have to thank Sam for being a whiny little bitch later.

Or, you know, _never_. Since it would probably only encourage him and Dean didn't think he could take much more of that shit without just shooting himself in the fucking head.

He worked Tim's shoes off with his feet, but couldn't manage to get his own boots off the same way. For a minute he considered leaving them on just so he wouldn't have to stop kissing Tim, but finally decided against it and forced himself to pull back with a vague _boots_ as he twisted around to pull the fuckers off. It totally screwed up his game to have to work around his pants tangled up at his fucking ankles.

It was probably a good move, though, because as soon as he yanked the leg of his jeans up to untie his right boot, he remembered the knife he was carrying. He pulled his pant leg back down quickly, wincing at his own stupidity as he pulled off his boots and socks as carefully as could so it didn't jostle and fall to the floor. There was no _hey, wait, is that a knife?_ from behind him, thankfully, so unless Tim had hidden kinks, ( _Really, really_ hidden.) Dean took that to mean he hadn't seen it. He pushed it down into his boot, covering it with both of his socks before looking back over his shoulder to find that Tim had pulled off his socks and then taken it upon himself to pull his shirt off.

And then _fold it_.

Dean bit his lips together, trying to keep from laughing, before he grabbed the shirt off Tim's lap and tossed it over his shoulder blindly. Tim opened his mouth like he was going to complain but shut it just as quick when Dean's hand slid over his shoulder to the back of his neck, pulling him in for a kiss.

Magnetic, seriously, it must have been.

He pulled back quick enough to pull off his shirt before standing up to shove down his jeans. He couldn't help grinning when Tim, wide eyes tracking over his chest, looked immediately at his dick.

"Your turn," he said, reaching down to push Tim back onto the bed and pull at the waistband of his pants and underwear, completely ignoring Tim's choked out _I, um_ in favor of finally getting him naked.

He loved the taking off clothes part, it was like fucking Christmas.

 _All this for me? Shucks, you shouldn't have._

Tim's face had been flushed pretty much the entire time (At least since he'd caught Dean checking out his ass in the elevator, anyway.) but it looked about ready to go nuclear when Dean dropped his pants to the floor, not even trying to pretend he wasn't taking in every single inch of him as he stepped forward and climbed back onto the bed.

He took his time as he settled over top of him, dragged his mouth over Tim's hip and pressed kisses up his stomach, set teeth and tongue to his nipples until Tim squirmed and gasped, licked and sucked at his throat, to that spot that made him moan so pretty, until they were right up on each other and Tim was looking at him all heavy-lidded but nervous at the same time. He nudged his lips at Tim's mouth, breath against breath and tongue slipping passed Tim's lips, as he slid his naked thigh up between Tim's own, rubbing down against him.

He groaned in the back of his throat as Tim shuddered underneath him, moaning into his mouth as his hands come up quick to drag over Dean's sides, squeezing reflexively, fingertips digging in. Dean rocked against him and Tim's hips responded by bucking up all jerky and awkward but somehow still managing to feel like lightning up Dean's spine. The friction on his cock, the feel of Tim's cock rubbing hot against his hip, making him fucking _crazy_ with lust. He shifted his weight until there wasn't even room to breathe between them, rocking down harder he slid his arm under Tim's back, trying to pull him even closer, like it was even possible.

Tim's twisted his mouth away, gasping deep like he hadn't had air in a thousand years, which Dean could understand since he did the same fucking thing himself. Tim made a choked off sound, like a moan so heavy it couldn't make it all the way out of his throat, when Dean sucked hard at his neck. His hands rubbed up and down Dean's back, across his shoulder blades and down to squeeze at his ass, and Dean couldn't help thinking that, unless something drastic happened, he was going to come just from this. Coming from fucking _rubbing_ , like he was fucking fifteen or something all over again.

"I wanna fuck you," he said (Mumbled. Fucking _moaned_.) against Tim's ear. "God, you gotta-- you gotta--"

Tim moaned, loud and desperate, nodding and nodding.

It was probably the greatest nod that Dean had ever gotten in his life.

He pressed his mouth to Tim's neck hard before forcing himself to untangle their limbs and pull away. "Where--"

"The drawer," Tim said, breathless as he pushed himself up on his elbows and scooted up the bed a little more, and Dean had to kiss him one more time before practically throwing himself across the bed.

There was lube, some of the expensive shit that Dean'd never used himself, in a tube that was _maybe_ half-full, and then, further back and sort of shoved into a corner, an unopened box of condoms. Dean raised an eyebrow but didn't say anything about it, there were three possibilities and only one that wouldn't send them into some kind of weird and Not Being Sex place.

It was awkward getting positioned, Tim was apparently always at least a little bit awkward and Dean was really fucking horny, but they managed it.

Dean rubbed his hands up and down the inside of Tim's thighs, letting his fingers slip further and further down with each pass in an attempt to not seem like some kind of jerk even though he totally was a jerk most of the time. He alternated between mouthing at Tim's stomach and dragging his tongue up along underside Tim's cock, all stiff and wet at the tip, until Tim was panting and practically wiggling his hips to get _something else_.

The cap of the lube was one of those flip-tops, which Dean didn't realize until he'd unscrewed it. Somehow he didn't think Tim would have cared if he'd gnawed the fucking thing open though because, the first slip of slippery fingers over his hole had him pressing his lips together hard and pulling at the sheets. Which was, Dean was sure, the hottest fucking thing he'd ever seen in his life right up until the first push _in_ when Tim arched up and full out _moaned_.

Tim was tight and hot and every other word that translated to fucking perfect. He squirmed and gasped with every push and twist and slide of Dean's fingers, making Dean's mouth too dry and his breathing too quick, making it impossible not to jerk himself off as he watched. On and on like his own personal skin flick.

"You like that?" He asked, voice gone all rough and deep, even though it was a fucking stupid ass thing to ask.

"Yeah," Tim said, nodding vaguely as he shifted, rubbing the back of his head against the mattress, his hands going white-knuckled in the blanket every time Dean pushed his fingers in.

Dean licked at his bottom lip and swallowed, twisting his fingers and pulling on his cock at the same time. "You ever do it to yourself?"

Tim's shoulder jerked and his eyes rolled back, then squeezed shut, as his breath rushed out hard, either from the twisting slide of Dean's fingers or what he'd said. He voice was like breath. " _Yeah_."

Dean wouldn't have been able to hold back the moan even if he'd tried.

He squeezed hard at his cock for a second, trying to convince himself that he was _not_ going to come, and then he leaned down, leaned in, to kiss Tim hard. It was sloppy, wet and frantic, their lips mashing together and their teeth clacking more than they didn't, but Dean couldn't find it in him to give a shit. Because Tim's hand had come up to rub at the back of his neck, and Tim's hips were rocking down to meet his fingers every time they pushed in, and he was going to fuck Tim until he couldn't even fucking see straight, and it was going to be _fucking beautiful_.

Tim pulled his mouth away, shuddering and whimpering quietly as he squeezed the back of Dean's neck for a second and tried to catch his breath. His chest heaved as he panted out, _okay, okay_.

"Okay?" Dean said, like he was suddenly a fucking parrot or something.

"Okay," Tim said, grinning at him all blissed-out.

Dean grinned right back. "Okay."

He fumbled with the condoms and then squeezed too much lube on his fingers, clumsy with lust. The lube smeared over Tim's thigh as he pushed Tim's knee up to his chest and lined up. It gleamed shiny and wet out of the corner of his eye as he pushed in, little by little each time, slow slow slow. He'd never been very good at slow and he'd never been very good at patient but he was determined for some fucking weird reason to do both right then. So he did. On and on until his hips were bumping against the backs of Tim's thighs with every smooth, solid thrust of his hips and Tim was gasping out _oh my god, oh god_ and grabbing at the pillow above his head like it was a fucking lifeline.

The bed creaked under them, a loud metal-on-metal scratch of a sound that echoed against the walls, and Dean hoped, in a really not fucking caring sort of way, that Tim's neighbors were out of town or the country or the maybe even off the planet. Because, even as loud as it was, the sounds that came out of _them_ seemed to be even louder. Harsh panting and desperate moans, choked off groans and bitten out curses, the slap of skin against skin. Their own fucked up dirty sex song.

He couldn't keep eyes open, between staring at Tim's face and staring down his body to watch his dick he couldn't handle the fucking hotness, it was like his brain just couldn't process it, couldn't deal, and had to shut it out or explode. He could _hear_ his own _heartbeat_.

He wasn't going to last. He wasn't.

He leaned hard on Tim's thigh, pushing Tim's knee until it touched his chest, and tilted his hips, switching up the angle as he reached down and slipped his hand around Tim's cock. He licked at his mouth, sucking his bottom lip between his teeth and biting down _hard_ to distract himself. And he fucked Tim harder, faster, in counterpoint to the quick twist rhythm he set with his hand.

When Tim came, tensing up all over, his breathing hitching in his throat as he jerked and shuddered, pulsing out hot and wet across his stomach, it was like a fucking jolt through Dean, like an electric shock, like a million other things, like everything. He moaned, loud and disbelieving, and just stopped thinking. Stopped thinking about anything that wasn't how fucking hard he was coming and how he was going to have to start fucking way more dudes.

After, like when he got his brain back, he collapsed on top of Tim, breathing heavily and pressing lazy kisses to Tim's shoulder, because it felt like his fucking spine had melted and it was either _on Tim_ or _on the floor_.

They were both all sweaty and sticky and when Dean finally forced himself to shift up off him to get rid of the condom, it was like a seal unsticking.

"You can stay if you want," Tim said, shifting awkwardly after they'd managed to kick the wrecked comforter off onto the floor. "You don't have to, but--"

"Thanks. I wasn't planning on leaving but I always like an invitation," he said, yawning hugely and pulling the sheet up over his shoulder before throwing an arm over Tim's stomach. "Okay, seriously, no more talking, dude. Sleep now."

Tim laughed sort of breathlessly. " _Sleep now_?"

"Yep. Sleep now." Dean grunted and shifted, sniffing a few times as he settled himself.

Tim laughed a little more but finally murmured a kind of agreement and shifting a little, his fingers slipped up to slide along the back of Dean's arm. Up and down, up and down, up and down...

The next conscious thought that Dean had was that Tim hadn't been lying, there really was too much fucking light in the morning. The second conscious thought that he had was that he had to piss like a fucking race horse.

"Jesus," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing at his face for a minute before pushing the sheet back and throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He stumbled to the bathroom to pee, yawning and leaning hard on the wall behind the toilet, almost falling asleep again right there, and then stumbled back to try to disentangle their clothes with only one eye actually fully open.

After putting on his shirt inside-out twice and nearly cutting off his toes when he forgot to take the knife out of his boot _before_ shoving his foot in it, he managed to get himself dressed and mostly awake. Mostly. He stood there for a minute, just looking at Tim, and thought about waking him up to say goodbye or something, but decided against it. It would either go all morning-after weirdness or he'd be unable to resist just climbing back into bed for another round. Just looking at him _asleep_ , Dean could feel the urge itching at his skin, he couldn't imagine how hard it would be if Tim was actually awake. He was probably all... like, _cute_ and shit in the morning. Forcing himself to turn away and walk into the living was like having fucking bamboo shoved under his fingernails.

In the kitchen, he rummaged around for something to eat. There was a totally creepy amount of Responsible Adult food but he found a box of some kind of dinosaur cereal and some frosted strawberry Pop-Tarts in the cabinet over the fridge. Shoving half a Pop-Tart in his mouth immediately, he poked around in the fridge for a minute, guzzled down some milk straight from the bottle, before wandering around to have a look at all Tim's shit. He hadn't really gotten a chance to look around last night, too busy with more important things on his mind. Like dick sucking and hot ass sex.

Most of the stuff was boring, books and computer stuff and other nerdy shit like that, but there were some _hilarious_ pictures of Tim looking awkward and uncomfortable with his family. From the looks of it, Tim had a little sister (A hottie in the making, too. God, he loved bikinis.) and an obvious life's mission to corner the fucking market on shitty haircuts.

After he finished off the Pop-Tarts, shaking the little frosting crumbs into his mouth before tossing the wrapper into the garbage can in the kitchen, he scribbled out a note and his cell phone number on an index card (Seriously, index cards?) and tacked it right smack in the middle of Tim's immaculately organized message board.

  
_Found your Pop-Tarts. Stole some. I'm stealing this pen, too. You want it back, you're going to have to call and convince me._   


He didn't really know why he bothered, it wasn't his usual M.O. to keep in touch with the people he screwed around with, but something told him that last night wasn't going to be the last time this kid just barely avoided some crazy monster shit. And that same something told him that the kind of person who organized their canned goods alphabetically wasn't going to have a snowball's chance in hell against anything more unnatural than an all-night marathon of Maude reruns on Nick-at-Nite. (Not that Bea Arthur wasn't totally badass and probably, like, secretly a ninja or some shit, but... _six seasons_? Obviously a deal with the devil. There was no other explanation.)

He pulled his jacket off the back of the couch where he'd thrown it the night before, shrugged it on, and shoved Tim's confiscated pen down inside the right pocket. He took a second to practice his longing face in the direction of Tim's bedroom but finally sucked it up and got a move on.

The front door didn't even make a sound when he pulled it shut behind him.

He didn't bother to wait for the elevator, just hit the stairs, and once outside, he took a second to pull the collar of his jacket up. He looked around, memorizing the address and the look of the place, before he started back on what, if he'd added it up right, was going to be one hell of a motherfucking walk back to the motel.

Jesus.

Next time he did this shit, he was taking the fucking car.


End file.
